The Journey
by FNF.Morgan
Summary: [WIP] Encompassing the time before John Shepard joined the Alliance and beyond, The Journey is an epic retelling of the Mass Effect Trilogy from an Earthborn Sole Survivor Shepard. Join us as we discover the trials and tribulations that John experiences as he goes from second-in-command of the 10th Street Reds to the man who would save the galaxy.
1. Welcome to The Journey

(( This Page Updated Frequently ))

Hello everyone;

Welcome to **The Journey** \- an epic retelling of the Mass Effect trilogy from pre-Mass Effect to post-Mass Effect 3. This story will take you from all over Shepard's life, from his beginnings in the 10th Street Reds to the Hero of Humankind.

I wanted to thank you, personally, for taking time out of your day and reading this story of mine. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. This page is dedicated solely for information for your to find during your time here, such as main choices that will be decided as the story progresses and little tidbits to help you decide if you'd like to move on, or grab a seat and continue reading.

So here we go!

 **Upbringing: ** Earthborn

 **Background:** Sole Survivor

 **Name: ** 'John' Shepard.

 **Class:** Soldier

 **STORY ARCS**

This is where you can get a guide to where in the video game trilogy each chapter takes us.

 **Pre-Mass Effect**

 **Earth**

Chapter 1: Finch

Chapter 2: Questions

 **Mass Effect**

 **Mass Effect 2**

 **Mass Effect 3**


	2. Finch

_The Journey_

 **Chapter 1**

 _"Finch"_

 **April 11th, 2154**

 **Birth Report**

 **Name:** "John" Shepard

 **Weight:** 9 lbs 11oz

 **Eyes:** Blue

 **Notes:** The delivery was almost a complete failure. With the umbilical cord wrapping itself around the neck of the baby, an emergency caesarean section was performed. However, the mother sustained too much blood loss in the process, resulting in her passing. The father was not present at the delivery. Will hand over child to proper authorities once we've deemed it healthy.

 **Dr. Gregory Wilson, M.d.**

 **St. Paul's General**

 **Vancouver, BC, Canada**

 **April 11th, 2172**

They say revenge is a dish best served cold.

Finch absolutely loved that line, thought it was the perfect description for his favorite way of executing those who double crossed him. Like poor McMichael, or "Mickie" for example, who was currently being tied tightly to a metal chair screwed to the floor of a meat freezer. You would have thought that after giving his daughter the same treatment, albeit with Finch doing a bit more beforehand, McMichael would've learned to stop embezzling money from Finch's operation. But he didn't – and now he'd join his daughter in the afterlife. It was a brutal way to die, one that I didn't necessarily approve of…

But NO ONE crosses Finch.

That was the new rule on the streets of Vancouver. With Finch and his gang, the 10th Street Reds, currently dominating the majority of the cities underground network, Finch was well in place to becoming the major kingpin he had always dreamt of being since he first took over the gang. The Reds more recent ventures into drug smuggling and weapons caches brought in a sizable profit to the firm, allowing us to expand our territory and bring in more 'recruits' to the cause, or mainly just to be the pushers for our products. Our biggest money sink, however, was greasing up the pigs and making sure none of us got thrown into the pen. But that was never talked about, just understood.

I stood there next to Finch, my hands shoved into my pocket, watching it all unfold. I honestly don't enjoy this kind of life. The lies, the deceit, the… well, murder. But I had no real choice. I had known Finch since I was a little kid. Being the 2nd on the ladder had its perks. I never really had to make the hard decisions, nor did I ever go for want. Never got my hands dirty, either. I just had to stand there, have Finch's back, be the guy for him to vent to when he needed it. It was an okay living, minus all the blood, and I didn't get fucked with – which was a plus. I spent most of my time relaxing at my favorite pub, sitting there, drinking, and watching the soccer game being played. Simple. If I ever got the urge for anything, I just asked Finch for it. New apartment? Done. Car? Done. Anything I wanted in a heartbeat, but it wasn't always like that.

Finch 'found' me in an orphanage when I was but eight years old. We were the same age, of course, but he wasn't as lucky as I was to be living in an orphanage. He had been slumming in the streets his whole life, even before his parents had died just two years prior. He used to walk by the orphanage all the time and talk to me through the fence whenever the Matron would let us outside for playtime and we became fast friends. I can't exactly recall how he did it, but one day he finally managed to convince me to hop the fence when the Matron wasn't looking and join him out there on the streets – stealing for food and trying to find a warm place to sleep at night. Not quite sure why I ever agreed to it – life had been hell – but with Finch, it was never dull. See, he was good people. He was funny and witty as hell, with a sharp mind to boot. But there was always something there in his eyes, something dark. It wasn't until he convinced me to join the 10th Street Reds with him did I begin to get a glimpse of it.

We had joined the gang solely for protection, keeping our asses out of prison at the same time making some money so instead of stealing food, we could buy a proper warm meal. The stuff they had us do wasn't too bad – shake up guys who were late on debts or hustle a couple of people on the streets with cards. Nothing serious. But it wasn't until Finch wanted to get deeper into the organization did things start clicking in his mind of a more grandeur life.

Our 'initiation' ended up being us dealing with a couple of rival bangers from the 9th Street Kings. They had begun pushing their gear into our territory and the head honcho, Ivan Kolichankov, wasn't exactly too pleased about it. He had heard about Finch and I running small jobs, and decided this would be our time to shine. So.. he handed us a piece and told us to go deal with it.

" _I don't want to fucking do this, man, this is not the shit I ever wanted to do," I had argued with Finch on the walk over to the Kings hideout._

 _He patted me on the back, "Hey, don't worry about it, man. I'll do the deed and say you helped as well. No way I'm going to go higher in this fucking crew without you beside me, brother. Just play it chill, and watch my back," He pulled a knife from his trousers and handed it to me, "Just be cool."_

 _I gripped the knife in my hand, staring at it, shaking my head in disbelief. I never wanted any of this, "Alright, man, I got you."_

The whole thing went off without a hitch. We busted through the door, Finch proceeded to shoot up anything that moved – and we left long before the sirens could even be heard. Ivan congratulated us personally, handed us a nice stack of cash, and told us he had big plans for us. Any other job after that, he gave to us personally – and it always ended up the same. Finch would go in, shoot, and I'd just stand there and watch, knife in hand. No one ever knew and Finch never complained. I think he enjoyed the killing. Enjoyed letting some steam off in the capacity of filling people with lead. But I didn't say anything. I should have. But didn't.

In the end that makes me just as bad as him.

Anyways, six years after we had joined up – Finch took out Ivan – and it wasn't in a pretty way. After getting fed up of not seeing anymore advancement in the crew, Finch gutted the old man in front of his 'council'. To his surprise, and mine too, no one killed him in retaliation. Either they hated Ivan themselves or appreciated Finch's audacity, I'll never know, but they handed over the reigns of the Reds to him, and since then, he's made one helluva name for himself.

Quickly after, he took out the Kings, and merged with almost every other gang in the Upper East side of Vancouver. Within a month, he had stabilized the entire area… and surprisingly, made it one of the safest in the entire city. Crime was at an all time low and eventually high income people began moving into the area. Why? Because nothing happened without Finch giving an okay for it. Drugs were not allowed to be peddled and the gangs source of income was from protection and weapons. Shit, cops didn't even patrol the sector because they knew Finch had it on lockdown and if something popped off, it was squashed. Fast.

Like McMichael here.

You see, McMichael's own shop was where Finch dealt with most of his 'issues'. He did it all personally. Always believed the whole 'he who passes judgement shall be the executioner' mantra or whatever, and his method was freezing 'em to death. McMichael was also one of Finch's best smugglers for weapons out of the city, so when Finch found out that McMichael was embezzling money to earn a little more, that pissed Finch right the fuck off.

You see, we had begun noticing a dip in income from his establishment. We approached him about it, he said he didn't know – that he'd go through the papers again just to make sure. Finch said no and put me up to the job. It was an easy enough of an investigation, every sign pointed to McMichael doing it himself. But Finch had a little soft spot for the man, due to how good his business was with him and because of what he put up with in his establishment… so he went easy on the man, went after his daughter.

It was not a day I wish to remember when McMichael returned to his store after one deal to find his daughter in his own freezer. We thought he would've learned after that, but I guess he enjoyed money more than his own family.

And so here we are.

"Finch, please, come on, man. Not this. Please, not this."

Finch laughed, "You should've FUCKING listened then, Mickie. I fucking told you not to cross me."

He took the lock off the door, fiddling with it a little as the recruits were finishing up with McMichael, "It's a damn shame, Mickie. Thought you'd learn after we dealt with Sara. Guess you really are as dumb as I thought you were," he said, turning away from the freezer and tossing the lock to me, "Finish up here."

I caught the lock in my hands, turning to the recruits as they finished, "Get out of here. I'll finish this up. Head back to the Royale and I'll meet you there."

They nodded obediently, before strutting out of the butcher's shop. It was just McMichael and I left. I stared at him, trying to form the words to ask him to help me understand why the fuck he continued to push the limits with Finch, ending with him in this situation. Part of me felt bad for the man, to die in such a way. I think it's one of Finch's worst ways of taking care of someone, but who am I to tell that to Finch? He'd just take it the wrong way and get pissed off.

And pissing off Finch is one of the last things I want to do.

"Goodbye, Mickie," I said, slowly shutting the door. I could hear his muffled cries for mercy and help as I slid the lock onto the door. With a hand heavy with guilt, I latched the lock, turned, and left.

It was in that moment, when the lock finally clicked into place and hearing the muffled sounds of a man doomed to die, did something click in me…

I didn't want to do this anymore.


	3. Questions

_The Journey_

 **Chapter 2**

" _Questions"_

 **April 11th, 2172**

A few hours had passed when I finally turned up at the Royale. I had spent a majority of the time wandering around the streets, trying to digest this new feeling of woe. The familiar double doors of the casino brought a small bit of comfort to me, in the sense that very soon I could drown myself in my bed and try to sleep off these new concerns. But at the same time, the feeling of dread of entering this place and returning to the world of Finch overcame me. I enjoyed my mindless wandering. It had been a nice break from the constant violence and drama that surrounded the 10th Street Reds. But I knew I had to come back or else questions would begin to enter people's minds. Questions I'd rather not deal with.

The Royale. The large building that was once just a shoddy, downtrodden pizza joint, was now the base of operations for Finch. The pizza joint **it** once was used to be a favorite of ours. A respite from the day to day life living on the street. The owner, Paul Valdost, had been a good friend of Finch and I's growing up, letting us do small things around the joint in exchange for warm meals, giving us discounts when we could pay. We were both heartbroken, to say the least, when the news came to us that Paul had passed away from a heart attack. In all of his vileness, Finch occasionally produces acts of kindness, and one of them was taking over the pizza joint - using funds from his 'work' - to keep it up and running. He kept the recipe, hired some local orphans, and refurnished the upstairs apartment. It became our home. Our place of escape after a hard day of work, if that's what you desire to call it.

And as Finch grew in rank, so did the Royale. It expanded, became more of a restaurant, then a gambling hall that had food, then a straight casino all together. He expanded into the entire building that housed it originally. It was a smart move. It taught him business, a skill he would make good use of with the Reds.

He made sure the pizza stayed on the menu, though.

I kept a good control of my nerves as I moved through the main floor of the Royale, heading straight to the bar. I don't drink often, hell maybe once a month, but after what I just did I wanted nothing more than to drown myself in as much vodka as possible. I needed to drown the noise, the death throes of Mickie, of Sara, of all the individuals whose lives were taken during Finch's meteoric rise in the gang. What have I done?

"Are you okay?" A feminine voice, with a feint Australian accent, asked me as I downed my first shot. I must not be hiding my nerves as well as I had hoped. I turned to find myself facing a young woman, about my age, with raven black hair. In an instant, the first thing that popped into my head was how perfect this woman was. Then, rationality took over. Too perfect. My interest was piqued. This was not someone you'd normally find in this kind of bar - but then again, what would you find in this bar? If she was here, it meant she had money.

A simple nod was all I gave in return as the barkeep, Marcos, slid me another shot.

The way this woman stared at me told me that she didn't believe me. She was studying me, watching me as I went through the motions of lifting the shot to my mouth, and sending the liquid down the drain. It felt as if every muscle tension and relaxation was studied intently by her eyes and the feeling of discomfort came over me. In response, I resorted to my most basic functions - being a smart ass.

"I'm sure you've heard the old adage 'Take a picture, it'll last longer', eh?" Not my best retort, my mind is dulled by the liquid not being deterred with food. It'd do. I could tell the lack of effort, though, seemed to have offended the guest.

"Not a picture worth taking," she said, a hint of disdain in her voice. Offended, indeed.

"Not the normal lot we get here in the Royale. What brings you here?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the demons that were clawing at my doorstep.

She let out a small huff, as if I had used out my small amount of patience she alloted for me, "My father's work, unfortunately. Though I'd much rather be home then here. Vancouver is such a dull city."

A little ping of hurt hit me. I loved this city. I think? But the mention of her father's work drew my attention. Was Finch scheduled to meet someone today? If he did, I should've known about it - and I don't recall there being anything on the schedule besides handling Mickie. I set the next drink back down and turned to face her fully, "Father's work? Is he doing business with the owner of this place, then?"

She seemed hesitant to answer, and tried to deflect the question, "What does it matter to you? From what I can tell, you're just another drunk trying to drown something with liquor. How is that working for you?"

She didn't know. Interesting. I sat back in my seat and fiddled with the drink, alternating glances between it and this woman in front of me, and turned the tables. I began studying her. The way her raven hair laid on her shoulders, perfectly styled to the shape. The curves of her body and the definition throughout. She was trained, physically, in some form of martial skills. The small cuts here and there on her body hinted at earlier lessons taught harshly. Her eyes. The way they darted back and forth, surveying and taking into account all the minute features of the person she was looking at. Educated, for sure. In addition to her being trained in martial arts, I wouldn't be surprised if she was identifying weak points in my body should this conversation not go the way either of us expected it to. She was dangerous, profoundly dangerous, and everything about her just spoke volumes about how everything she has trained for was designed to specifically give her an advantage in any situation.

Impressive.

I fiddled with my drink a little more before responding, "Not as well as I had hoped, unfortunately," I began to stand and immediately noticed a shift in her weight. Even more impressive. I held up my hands, "I mean you no harm. In fact, I think I'll go see what your father is doing here since you don't seem to know yourself."

The statement threw her off, the confusion was obvious. I let a small chuckle escape before moving past her, heading towards the elevator that would lead to my room. I wanted to change before I went up and saw Finch, a warm shower to quell the thoughts. I wasn't in a rush to find out what the mysterious woman's father was doing here, but I was off put by the fact that I wasn't in the know for such a meeting. This was the first meeting I've missed with Finch since the very beginning.

That's not a good sign.


End file.
